Analyst v Analyst
by r4ven3
Summary: This fic began with the idea of putting Ruth and Connie together on the Grid - as work colleagues - and the likely repercussions of such a pairing. What happened wasn't what I'd expected at all, and what was meant to be lightly humorous, rather quickly turned serious, and a little bit dark. An AU tale, set early in S.7. 3 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

March 2008:

Adam Carter entered Harry's inner sanctum without knocking.

"We have to do something," he said.

"About what?" Harry didn't even look up from the pile of reports he was reading and signing.

"You know what. She'll kill her. Connie eats other analysts for morning tea, saving section chiefs for a pre-dinner snack."

The tone of intensity and urgency in Adam's voice had Harry slowly putting down his pen, folding his hands in front of him, and lifting his eyes to meet Adam's.

"Spit it out, Adam. What is it you're trying to tell me?"

"It will never work. They can't seem to work together amicably."

"Why are you the one telling me this? If things are so bad between them, why isn't it one of them standing here, telling me?"

"Ruth has her pride, Harry …... and she doesn't want to admit it when she can't handle something. You know what Ruth is like."

Harry does, of course. He knows her rather well, although since she'd returned to the MI5 fold, things had been perceptibly different. He'd barely finished that thought, when Ruth came into view. She rushed across his field of vision, stopping only at her desk to grab her coat, and then she disappeared towards the pods. She hadn't even looked his way, which in itself was not unusual. Since she'd returned to London, things between them had been rather frosty.

"Where's she off to?" Harry said, a frown forming between his eyebrows.

"How should I know?" Adam replied.

Harry gazed up at Adam, as though he'd forgotten the presence of his section chief in his office. The quiet knock on the door had both men turning to see Connie James, a mix of guilt and pleasure on her face.

"I think I may have upset Ruth," she began, as she slowly crossed the office towards both men.

* * *

On leaving his office, Harry firstly stopped by Ruth's desk, and noticed two things. One was that her bag was still under her chair, and the other was that she'd left her gloves behind. He grabbed the gloves, and stuffed them into the pocket of his coat, and then headed towards the pods. He checked the roof balcony, and finding it empty, he returned down the stairs, and out through the front door.

"Which way did Ms Evershed go?" he asked the security guard on daytime duty.

"Off towards the river, I think," the man replied.

Harry nodded his thanks, before pulling on his own black leather gloves, and turning up his collar against the cold mid-March air, before heading off in the direction of the river. It was an overcast day, but dry, and the air seemed so still it could be carved into shapes using a sculptor's tools. He strode towards the river, and then crossed Lambeth Bridge, maintaining a steady pace. Once he reached the Thames embankment, he slowed his pace. He noted the benches ahead of him, and yet there was no sign of Ruth. For a moment, he worried about her, hoping she'd remember to keep her hands in her pockets. London in March was a very long way from Cyprus.

As he trudged on, keeping his gaze alert to the shape and size of Ruth, Harry remembered the relief and joy he'd felt when, only ten weeks earlier, he'd received the phone call from Brenton Clegg – one of 6's agents in Cyprus – informing him that he'd seen Ruth in a store in Paphos, and wasn't she meant to be dead? What had followed had been a flurry of activity, and some long hours put in by Malcolm, who'd had to create some new documents for Ruth, using a completely new identity. Harry had wanted to be the one to fly to Cyprus to bring her home, but Adam had talked him out of it, and he was glad that he had. Had he gone to Cyprus, he would have allowed his own confused and unspoken feelings to get in the way, and chances are, Ruth would have flatly refused to budge. Adam, on the other hand, had been forthright, convincing Ruth that it was safe for her to return home.

Harry had been shocked to learn, when Adam had rung him, after having met Ruth in Polis, that she was reluctant to return to her old life.

"She's settled here, Harry. She has a job, and she's safe."

"Then convince her to come home. We need her."

He'd known that Adam had seen through his order. The Grid now had Connie James, and whilst not Ruth, she was a dedicated and effective senior intelligence analyst, and she understood how Harry worked.

Ruth had returned home as Ruth Wright, but on the Grid, everyone still referred to her using old identity. Malcolm was still working towards getting her name cleared. Ruth, on the other hand, had not greeted Harry in the way he'd imagined she might. On her first night back in London, only four days after Christmas, he'd visited her at the safe house which was to be her temporary home.

"Harry," was all she said, as she opened the door to him. "You may as well come in."

"I have a bottle of wine for you. As a welcome home gift."

Ruth had taken the bottle, and read the label. "White burgundy," she'd said flatly. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

Her words had felt like a slap. He was overjoyed she was home, but it was clear to him that she did not share his joy. He'd followed her down the hallway to her cramped kitchen, and she'd invited him to sit at the small round table, while she occupied herself with making a pot of tea.

"Why did you insist I come home, Harry?" she asked, once she'd sat at the table, and waited while Harry poured their tea. "I'd only just found peace …... in Cyprus."

"Were you happy there?"

"Define happy. I know, I can't. I was …... safe there. I can't possibly be safe here."

"Oliver Mace is in prison, Ruth. He was indicted on 15 counts of torture. His non-parole period is eighteen years. By the time he's released, he'll be over seventy."

Ruth had sighed heavily, and looked up at him through tired eyes.

"That day I left …... that terribly cold morning …... I asked you to let me go. You haven't, have you?"

Tired and angry Ruth he could understand, but direct Ruth was something new. Harry had blinked several times, staring across the table into those thunderstorm eyes. All he could do was shake his head.

"Harry, I don't think I was ever the woman you believed me to be. I'm just Ruth -"

"Ruth, I -"

"No, Harry. This time you don't get to call the shots. I've spent over 16 months on my own, in a world that could easily have swallowed me so that I disappeared forever. While away from London, I learned to live on my wits, with no-one whom I could trust ….. no friends, no family, no ….. I missed you so much that I ached, but I soon learned to rise above that ache. Now I'm back here, all I can think is that I have to get up tomorrow and be ready to work another long day on the Grid, after which nothing at all in the world will have changed …..."

It had been at that point that Ruth's voice had cracked, and she'd stopped speaking, while tears had rolled down her face. Harry hadn't known what to say. He'd waited while she'd silently cried, hoping that the next words which came out of his mouth wouldn't alienate her further.

"The truth is, Ruth …... I've missed you terribly …... not only personally, but professionally as well. I've dragged an old colleague – Connie James – out of retirement to fill your shoes, but she only goes part way to doing that." He looked across the table, to see that she was looking at him differently, the coldness, the belligerence no longer there. Were he to have chosen a word, it would have been `interested'. "I don't expect you back at work until you're ready. However long it takes, you can take your time ….."

"But you won't wait forever, will you?"

"No. I won't." He'd then fiddled with the spoon, putting extra sugar in his cup, knowing that two spoonfuls was sweet enough. Then he'd looked up again, into her eyes. "I'm very pleased you're here, Ruth, even if you're not happy about it."

She'd talked little about her 16 months in exile. She'd seemed reluctant to talk to him at all. By the time he left, he got the impression that she'd blamed him for her exile. Her time alone in the world had given her opportunities for thinking differently. As he started his car, he'd wondered whether Ruth had met anyone in the time she'd been away. He'd wanted to know – he still wanted to know – but would never be brave enough to ask the question of her.

Less than a week later, Ruth had returned to the Grid, and it was within her first month back that she had had her first disagreement with Connie. Their disagreements were not a daily event, but happened at least weekly, and the intensity of them was escalating.

Then he saw her, standing against the stone parapet, hands pushed into the pockets of her coat, her eyes gazing down at the grey water of the Thames. Silently he approached her, and he pushed his own hand into the pocket of his coat, retrieving her gloves.

"I thought you might need these," he said, holding the gloves out for her to take from him.

She surprised him by smiling into his eyes, one of only a few smiles she had offered him since her return. Since returning to London, Ruth's mood had been as grey as the weather. She had kept to herself, and Harry had respected her need for solitude.

"Thanks," she said. "I keep forgetting how cold it gets here." She quickly pushed her fingers into her gloves, and then flexed them. "But you didn't come all this way just to bring me my gloves."

Harry gently took her elbow, and led her to a spare bench nearby. "I need you to talk to me," he said, once they'd sat, comfortably apart.

Ruth kept staring out at the river, and for a moment, Harry wondered had she heard him, but then he remembered that their conversations had never been like any conversations he'd shared with others. He had to let her determine the when and the why, and even the if. All the same, there was something he needed to tell her.

"Your new apartment will be ready by the weekend," he said. "It's closer to work, and it's much nicer than the safe house. I took a look at it yesterday. I think you'll like it."

He turned his head to look at her, but she still stared ahead, her eyes on the river and beyond. There was at least another few minutes of silence before Ruth spoke.

"I'm curious as to what you think it is I'd like, Harry."

"I'm not totally insensitive."

"I know you're not."

She surprised him by reaching out with her hand, and laying it on his forearm, where her fingers grasped him tightly through layers of clothing. Harry couldn't help it. He looked down at her hand, and then up at her. She was watching him, a small smile dancing on her lips. When Ruth removed her hand, he reached out, and took that same hand in his, bringing them down to the seat of the bench, where at last their joined hands rested on the wooden slats of the bench. He was overjoyed when, through her hand, he felt Ruth's body relax, and she emitted an audible sigh.

"I know I've been awful to you," she said quietly, "and I've blamed you for everything. I know that my decision to leave London was not your doing."

"I never wanted you to leave, Ruth. The day you left was one of the worst days of my life."

"Coming back to London to again work in Section D is something I've dreamed about for most of my time in exile."

"So why were you so reluctant to return?"

Again, Ruth remained silent. When he turned to look at her, Harry noticed Ruth winding her spare hand around in her lap.

"Would you like your hand back?" he asked.

Ruth shook her head, and to illustrate a point, she turned her captured hand around so that their fingers entwined. Just that small gesture warmed Harry from the inside out.

"I don't really know why I was so disagreeable when Adam turned up. All I could think was, `here come the cavalry to save me – _again_.' I know that you believe that the defined actions of the security services is comforting to the population at large. We all sleep safely, knowing that MI5 are out there, doing their jobs. Well, I think I got tired of having my fate determined by faceless people, with agendas which were murky at best, and at worst, downright inhumane."

"I had no idea you'd felt that way."

"I did, but only because I knew that whenever I was feeling low, needing to ring my mother, or Jo …... or you ….. I couldn't. Officially, I was dead, and that had been deemed my fate. One sick man with a thirst for torture had determined that I would wander around Europe until it was considered safe for me to return ….. if that day ever came. There were so many times when I wanted to just hop on a plane and come home …... but I resisted the urge, and made myself accept my life …. as it was, with all its limitations. Then when I saw Adam, and he announced that it was time for me to come home, I felt …..."

"_What_, Ruth?"

"Betrayed."

The word, although spoken softly, still had impact. Harry grasped her hand just that little bit tighter, waiting for what he could only expect would be her judgement of him. What followed was another long silence.

"I'd only been in Cyprus for four months when Adam turned up. It was not until I rented a house in Polis, and got myself a nice job at the hospital, that I could see myself remaining there …... perhaps for the rest of my life. I even got asked out to dinner …... by one of the doctors at the hospital, but I never got to go. So, imagine my …... irritation …... when I saw Adam, all wide smiles and bonhomie, telling me that it's now fine for me to come home ….. like the previous sixteen months hadn't happened."

"Did you ….. want to go out with him?"

"_What_?" Ruth turned to look at him, confusion in her eyes.

"The doctor. Did he mean something to you?"

"Not really, but he was a nice man. I didn't have the chance to …... pursue that, and I was being shunted back to my old life."

"We hadn't known where you were. Zaf ….."

"Oh, I know that now …... now I'm back here. At the time Adam arrived, I was so angry …... and most of all, I was angry with you."

"Me? Why?" Harry turned slightly in his seat, so that he could better face her.

"I'd always imagined you to be the one who turned up …. to get me. We'd embrace, kiss, and all would be as it was before I left London."

This time it was Harry who took his time to reply.

"Adam talked me out of going to get you. At the time, it had seemed like the sensible option. I didn't want …... to see your face drop with disappointment when you saw me. I …... wanted to greet you when you came back to London."

"I'm sorry with how I …... was ….. when you visited me that first night. I wasn't terribly polite."

"I hadn't expected polite, Ruth. I'd hoped for some kind of …..."

"You hoped I'd be pleased to see you, and I was anything but."

"Yes."

"I've been ….. so hurt by all that had happened that …... I'd forgotten that you had also been hurt."

He found it difficult to accept his own feelings of hurt, so to acknowledge them to Ruth was something he was not quite ready to do.

"Now, about Connie," Ruth said, after a long silence, during which they'd each relaxed into being together once more.

"What about her?" he replied.

"I have a story for you. If you're not ready to hear it, I'll go higher, but you need to know what Connie is up to, Harry."

He turned in the seat, so that he had to let go of her hand. They were no longer two old friends who'd once been close, attempting to find their way back to one another. This was an MI5 section head and his analyst – colleague to colleague – and what Ruth began to tell him, had Harry sitting up straight.

When she'd finished relating her story to Harry, he sat very still. This time, he was the one staring across the river towards the Houses of Parliament, and Ruth was the one watching him, and waiting. Eventually, he took a deep breath, and turned to look into her eyes, his expression unreadable, but serious.

"That is a very serious allegation, Ruth. You're sure about this?"

"Yes. I've kept records."

"Encrypted?"

"Definitely. Everything is recorded …... in detail. I have everything on a mini disk."

"Does anyone else know? Malcolm?"

"No. I wanted to speak to you first."

"And your altercation with her today?"

"That had nothing to do with this. That was just …... our personalities clashing. She treats me as though I know nothing, and yet I find her methods sloppy, and her record-keeping questionable."

"You do realise, Ruth, what you are saying?"

"Yes. I'm accusing Connie James of being a traitor."


	2. Chapter 2

Harry and Ruth returned to the Grid separately. Harry stayed on the bench, indulging himself for a few minutes, watching Ruth walk away from him until, once she reached the other end of Lambeth Bridge, he lost sight of her. While he waited, Harry made several phone calls, the last being to the Home Secretary, whose reply to what Harry told him could not have been more surprising.

"That's rather interesting, Harry, because I've just been on the phone to Connie James, and she is accusing Ruth of being the traitor. She backed up her accusations with a rather incriminating email attachment."

Harry ended the call rather quickly, before he risked swearing at the Home Secretary. He had to get back to the Grid quickly. He was half way across Lambeth Bridge when he received another call, this time from Adam.

"Two men from Internal Affairs have taken Ruth. Connie is accusing her of -"

"I already know about Connie's accusations. I've been on the phone to the HS. Where have they taken her?"

"She's to be on home detention, under surveillance."

"And Connie?"

"She left the Grid soon after you left, and we haven't seen her since."

Once Harry stepped through the pods, he was set upon by his team.

"I hope you have a trace on Connie's phone, Malcolm."

"I do, but her phone has been turned off, and so can't be traced."

"What about Diaspora?"

"I put that on all phones at the time of the Havensworth summit, which was before Connie ….. joined us. Everyone's phones can still be traced using Diaspora …... except Connie's and Ruth's, given Ruth now has a different phone ... which is ... inconvenient."

"Quite."

"I have a copy of the charges," Adam said, handing a file to Harry, who took it with him into his office.

It appeared that Ruth had been charged with the very same thing for which she suspected Connie. The charges were detailed and numerous, but all were to do with being a double agent, selling information to members of the FSB, and all had taken place during the 9 weeks since Ruth had been back on the Grid.

"It's fiction, of course," Adam said from the doorway.

"Of course it is. Ruth doesn't even speak Russian."

"That alone won't get her off the hook, Harry. It's possible for her to have used a translator."

The look Harry gave Adam could have melted the polar ice caps.

"She has it all on a disk," Harry says calmly, his eyes still blazing.

"Where?"

"She hadn't told me. We need to begin a search, but be subtle about it."

"I'll get Jo to give her desk the once over," Adam says, already half way out the door of Harry's office.

Harry watched from behind his desk, as Jo sat at Ruth's desk, and began her search. From his vantage point, Jo could have been looking for a lipstick, or a spare pen drive, or a post-it note. It is when she slid her hand inside a drawer, feeling along the top of the drawer, that Jo's expression changed slightly. She had found it. She stood, and slid something small into one of the front pockets of her jeans, and then she headed to the technology suite.

Harry looked at his watch. Less than half an hour had passed since Ruth had been removed from the Grid. At this rate, she'd be back at work by the end of the day. Or so he hoped. It took another two hours for Malcolm to report to Harry that he could not open the encryption.

"What? What do you mean?"

"What I said. It's an encryption I've never come across."

"How did Ruth use it if you've never seen it?"

"If I knew that, I could probably identify the encryption used. I could run one of the files through a code breaker, but it may take up to a week to decipher."

"We don't have a week, Malcolm."

"There is …... another option."

"Then use it."

"It involves bringing someone else on to the Grid …... a clean skin."

"How clean?"

"Squeaky. He's a university graduate, an extremely bright young lad, and only twenty-three. His name's Tariq Masood, and he's a code expert. What he doesn't know about code hasn't yet been written."

"Do I need to ask how you know him?"

"You can ask. I …... sometimes mentor young hopefuls …... uni graduates. They …... find their way to me."

"Should I ask how that happens?"

"Best not."

"Alright. Just ensure he signs the Official -"

"Secrets Act ….. yes, he already has."

"Then bring him in, Malcolm."

"I thought I might …... have him come around to my home. I have everything there that I need, and -"

"Then do it. We have to examine Connie's accusations. Hopefully, she will not have covered her tracks as well as Ruth has."

Harry noticed Malcolm's hesitation.

"What is it?"

"Harry …... we're already assuming that Connie is the traitor …... that she's been the one passing on information to the Russians."

"Your point being?"

"Well …... in a court of law, both would have the right to a fair trial. We've not given Connie that right."

"Then take her evidence and go over it with a fine-tooth comb."

"I will. I'll go home now, if that's alright, and as well as Tariq Masood, I'd like to take Jo with me. Her skills are still emerging, but she's very quick, and speed will be essential."

Harry saw off Malcolm, and then nervously wandered around the Grid, checking that everyone there was on task. At just after 9 pm, Malcolm contacted him to say that Ruth's encryption had been broken, and that they were trawling through the information she had gathered.

"Most of this goes back at least 6 months, Harry. I suspect Connie had been planning this ever since she began working with us."

"What about what Connie has on Ruth? Can it be refuted?"

"Tariq has only just begun looking through it. All he's found so far is that the communications with the Russian secret service took place from Ruth's terminal."

"Ruth would never be that sloppy."

"That's what I said. We need to talk to Ruth. Tariq isn't yet familiar with how our system operates."

"Leave that with me," Harry said quickly. As he spoke to Malcolm, he was already formulating a plan. "I'll get in touch with Ruth, and then get back to you. You'll be staying up?"

"Tariq and Jo have agreed to work through the night. We have to crack this thing within the next 24 hours."

* * *

Immediately after Malcolm's call, Harry left the Grid. Being on the Grid left him feeling restless and useless. He felt a powerful need to make a contribution. He wanted to demonstrate to Ruth that he cared for her. He drove himself out of the inner city, and into the inner west of London. On the way, he stopped to buy fish and chips. He placed them on the seat on the passenger side, and then drove on. He parked his car in an alleyway, and with the package of fish and chips inside his coat, he climbed over a back fence, almost tearing his trousers on a protruding nail. Then he crept across the yard to a door – the back door of a flat – and tried the door. Of course, it was locked. He thought about picking the lock, but decided to try gentle knocking as a first option.

"Who is it?" a voice said hoarsely from the other side.

"Ruth - it's me. Let me in."

The door was quickly opened, and Harry stumbled into the utilities room at the back of Ruth's flat, while she locked the door behind him.

"If they catch you here …..."

"They won't. I doubt they know this flat has a back door. All you have to do is keep the lights off, and the noise down. I brought dinner."

Ruth led him into her kitchen, where she'd been sitting in the dark, a pot of tea on the table in front of her. The glow from a streetlight just outside the window provided enough illumination so that she had no need to turn on the lights inside the flat.

"Dinner?" she said. "Where?"

"Here," Harry replied, opening his coat, and retrieving the packet of food."

"I was going to ask you why you smelled of fish, but I guess that explains it."

"We need plates, Ruth."

"No, we don't. Open it out, and we can pick at it with our fingers. I'll see if I have some vinegar."

They sat at the table across from one another, and using their fingers, they ate the fish and chips. They became accustomed to the dimness, so that they could quite easily see the features of the other.

"I have wine," Ruth said, and when Harry nodded, she poured them each a glass of cheap white. "I'm saving the white burgundy," Ruth explained, "for a special occasion."

While they ate, Harry filled her in on what Malcolm had told him, and Ruth was able to give Harry much-needed information to be passed on to Malcolm and Tariq.

"Connie is first and foremost an analyst – of the old-fashioned kind. The technical side of the job is not her strength, and so I would have been surprised had she covered her digital tracks effectively. She doesn't possess that capability."

"I'll ring Malcolm once I get to my car."

Harry drained his glass of wine, and then looked across the table at Ruth. "I have to go soon," he said softly, his reluctance clear.

"You can stay here," she replied boldly.

"I can't, Ruth, and not because I don't want to stay. Tomorrow may be difficult, and I need to face it without …... distractions."

"I know," she replied, getting to her feet, and then joining him on his side of the table.

Harry placed a hand on her arm, and leaned down to kiss her cheek, but at the last moment, Ruth turned her head so that their lips met. It was a brief touch of his lips on hers, but it was sweet with promise. As he hurried to the back door, he felt a tingling in his body, the likes of which he'd not experienced for …... oh, over 19 months or so. Ruth unlocked the back door, and when he turned to say goodbye, she reached up, and took his face in her hands.

"I'm sorry for all the time we've lost, Harry," she whispered.

And then she kissed him again. This time the kiss was lingering, but Harry had to go, and so he ended the kiss, and quickly stepped through the door without looking back. Once he was seated in his car, he rested his hands on the steering wheel, and noticed their trembling. He started the car, and took off slowly, heading in the general direction of the home of Malcolm Wynn-Jones. When he was still a mile from Malcolm's house, Harry pulled over, and called Malcolm.

"I've just seen Ruth," Harry said, without preamble. "She says that the identities of the source terminals in Connie's report have probably been faked, and that the timing of when those source codes were entered will be critical to her case. This is the code to use," and he rattled off a string of digits and letters, which he then asked Malcolm to repeat back to him.

"Good," Malcolm replied. "I'll put Tariq on to that next. He's almost finished decoding Ruth's disc."

"Identifying the fake segments of Connie's information is even more urgent, Malcolm. The sooner that is done, the sooner Ruth's name can be cleared."

"This is not the same as Cotterdam, Harry."

Harry was about to say something cutting to Malcolm, but stopped himself, taking a deep breath before he spoke. "I know it's not," he said, "but there are far too many parallels, all the same."

"I'll do it myself."

"Good. Should I come over?"

"No, Harry. Go home, and get a few hours of sleep. Tomorrow might be a rather busy day."

* * *

And it was.

For Harry, the day began at 5.12 am, when his phone rang, dragging him rudely from a deep slumber.

"Harry," Nicholas Blake said, "I have had a file couriered to my office from your section. Apparently, Connie James has put one over us. How soon can you get here?"

"Will 6.30 be soon enough?"

"I'd prefer 6."

_Did that man ever sleep?_ Harry dragged his tired body out of bed, and straight into the shower. After a quick cup of coffee, he dressed, and headed straight to the Home Office, where he was ushered into Nicholas Blake's office. When Harry lowered himself into the chair opposite the Home Secretary, the time on his watch read 6.17 am.

"Coffee, Harry? Croissants?"

"Thank you," Harry replied. While croissants were not his favoured breakfast, he was hungry – and tired and annoyed – and he was prepared to eat almost anything, if it meant he could get out of the Home Secretary's office, and back to the Grid.

"Harry …..." Nicholas Blake began, his hands folded on the desk in front of him. "I've sent over some fellows to Connie James' flat. She'll be arrested and charged. And if you could, it would help were you to fast track Ruth Evershed's personal details, so that her presence at Thames House could be deemed official."

"Firstly, Home Secretary, I doubt Connie will be sitting in her flat waiting for your ….. _fellows_ to arrive. I haven't set eyes on her since mid afternoon yesterday. She may have gone to her home in Surrey, but that's only a possibility. Alternatively, she may already be on a train bound for Moscow. As for Ruth Evershed, once the shadow of treachery has been removed from her, and she is again free to come and go, I will see that her former identity is restored. Since she returned to us, we've been rather too busy to have addressed it."

"Good. Good. Your job in the next few days will be to help us keep this Connie James thing quiet. We can't have it getting out that we employed an analyst in our counterterrorism department who happened to be spying for the Russians …... can we?"

_We? You mean me_. Harry resisted the urge to squirm in his chair. Instead, he checked his watch. He had work to do.

* * *

DS Chris Wadsworth was waiting until the end of his shift at 8 am, when a call came in from his superior about a woman's body under the Westway. It was a regular thing – bodies being found under the Westway. They were usually homeless people …... or gangland killings, along with a smattering of suicides. Either way, he'd rather not have to deal with it, especially with the end of his shift looming.

"Take Chelsea," the DCI had suggested, so DS Wadsworth signaled to DC Chelsea Singh to follow him, and they were soon out the door, and into the car park behind Paddington Green Police Station.

The woman's body was slumped against one of the concrete structures which supported the roadway above. They had to shout to one another to be heard above the morning traffic which thundered above them. The dead woman appeared to be in her late 50's to mid 60's, and was clearly not homeless, given the quality of her clothing, and the heavy gold chain around her neck. Clearly she was not the victim of a robbery gone wrong. Wadsworth waited, while DC Singh walked around the body, articulating what she saw.

"She's been placed here after death," Chelsea said, with a degree of self importance. "The killer is trying to tell us something."

Wadsworth rolled his eyes. Too much _CSI_ on telly these days. Every bright-eyed kid fancied themselves as a profiler. The woman was clearly dead, so why overthink it? He shuffled through the woman's wallet, removed from her coat pocket by one of the SOCO team. Her Drivers Licence told him she was Constance Mary James, born 3rd May, 1943, with an address in Surrey.

DS Wadsworth called the name into the office, and while he waited for results, DC Singh showed him two bullet entry wounds - one in the woman's back, and the other in her neck. "Looks like an execution," she said. Again, Chris Wadsworth rolled his eyes. Kids! Then his phone rang, and what he heard had him standing to attention. He closed his phone, and turned back to Chelsea.

"This one's for the Home Office," he said. "It seems Constance James is a spy. Doesn't look much like one, does she?"

"I think that's the idea," Chelsea Singh replied, and this time it was she who rolled her eyes.

* * *

By the time Harry reached his office after his meeting with the Home Secretary, he had all the information he needed to call a meeting.

"You all must know by now that the charges against Ruth have been dropped, and that similar charges have been directed at Connie. On the way here, I received a call from the Home Secretary. Connie James' body was found this morning under the Westway. It appears she died from two gunshot wounds."

Harry waited, and looked around the table, as the members of his team absorbed the news. Malcolm was the only one to speak.

"Bloody Nora!" was all he said.

The rest of the team sat as though stunned. Harry noticed Jo Portman's eyes widening.

"Will the charges against her still stand?" Jo asked.

"It seems unlikely," Harry replied.

"They should indict her anyway. She was a cow."

Harry chose to ignore Jo's outburst. After all, sudden death affected everyone differently.

"The Home Secretary will ring Ruth, and I suggested she come in to work today. She now has to do all the analysis on her own."

"Which she can easily do with one hand tied behind her back," Jo said quietly.

"I have a recommendation to make," Malcolm piped up.

"Yes, Malcolm?"

"I would like Tariq Masood to be considered for the position of Technician and Data Analyst."

"What about you, Malcolm?" Jo said. "Isn't that your job?"

"I'm considering …... retiring," the current technician replied.

No-one spoke. No-one expected Malcolm would ever leave Section D. Most, including Harry, had imagined Malcolm diligently working in the technical suite long after the rest of the team had left, perhaps long after his own retirement. To imagine the Grid without Malcolm was nigh on impossible.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: I apologise for Connie's fate. I began this story with an idea which just didn't happen. The story pretty much wrote itself, and I just had to follow, and write it all down.**_

_**Thank you to all who read and reviewed, and followed, etc. Final chapter.  
**_

* * *

"I couldn't let that announcement go without further investigation."

Harry had quickly ended the meeting, and asked Malcolm into his office. Through the window, several pairs of eyes were on them while they spoke.

"I'm …... tired of it all, Harry. Another death has led me to wondering how soon before it will be my turn."

"Since you rarely leave the Grid -"

"You sent me out to investigate after that plane crashed, and I believed I'd been affected by -"

"I know, Malcolm, and I shouldn't have. You don't belong in the field ... although at the time your contribution was significant."

Malcolm sighed, and sat back. He'd been upset by having to be in the field all those months previously, especially since the operation itself had in the end been quite risky.

"I'll stay until Tariq joins us and I show him the ropes. That will give me around another three months."

"Thank you for telling me, Malcolm. Your presence on the Grid will be missed …... by me more than most."

* * *

Ruth didn't appear on the Grid until just after two o'clock. She was greeted as though she'd been away for a month. Jo and Malcolm, and two of the junior analysts rushed towards her as she stepped through the pods.

"I'm so glad you're back," Malcolm said, standing behind Jo, while the younger woman hugged Ruth.

"It's been mad," Jo said, standing back, her hand still on Ruth's arm. Looking quickly over Ruth's shoulder, Jo continued. "There's someone else would like to welcome you back," and then she stepped away.

"Ruth." Harry uttered her name with the same reverence he always had, and then he stood awkwardly at a distance, watching her carefully.

"It seems the charges against me have been dropped," Ruth said, smiling up at him.

"Quite right, too."

Harry guided her into his office, and indicated she should sit in the chair opposite his.

"You've been informed about Connie?"

"Her murder? Yes. Do you want me to look into it? It should only take a couple of hours to pin it down. I'd begin with any FSB members in London, plus any known associates."

Harry shook his head, and grimaced, his mouth twisting slightly. "It's already out of our hands. I suspect the FSB had to neutralise her. She'd stepped into the open, and so was no longer useful to them. I've been given strict instructions to bury it. The Home Secretary wants it to quietly disappear. She was a traitor. If it got out that she'd been working inside an MI5 facility for almost a year, able to freely peruse sensitive documents, well …... there would be an outcry."

"And it wouldn't do the current government any good, either."

Harry nodded briefly, and then looked more closely at her. "How are you? Are you alright to carry on?"

Ruth hesitated in a way that had Harry internally panicking. _Please ….. I can't bear it were she to go away again._

"I …... feel quite uncomfortable saying this, Harry, but ….. I'm relieved that Connie is …... no longer with us. I wouldn't have wished her dead, but she was impossible to work with, and I found her personality to be …... abrasive. Her …... absence will make my life easier, and …... much calmer."

Harry surprised his analyst by smiling across his desk at her. "Best you drop the idea of chasing up Connie's killers, Ruth. There's always a small chance such action may come back to bite you."

Harry signalled her dismissal by standing, and moving to her side of the desk. He saw her to the door, and the quick look she gave him before she left to go back to her desk softened his heart, so hardened by loss and defeat. She'd looked directly into his eyes and smiled. That smile kept him going for the remainder of the day - a day on which he needed to know that someone, somewhere approved of him, and perhaps even rather liked him.

* * *

Soon after 4 o'clock, Adam Carter stepped back onto the Grid, having spent the afternoon with an asset – one who had contacts within the Russian mafia.

"Where's Harry?" he asked of no-one in particular.

Ruth looked up from her monitor, and then through the windows of Harry's office. She remembered him leaving just before midday, saying he'd be gone for around 3 hours.

"Emergency JIC meeting," she said. "He should have been back by now."

"What about we all go for a drink?" Jo suggested from two desks away.

"But it's only 5 past 4," Ruth retorted.

"I don't mean now, but …... in a couple of hours. Sixish. It's been a rotten couple of days, and I for one am in need of fortifying."

Adam grinned lopsidedly at Jo. "You can count me in, but I'm not sure Harry or Malcolm would approve," he said.

"Why not? It's just a Friday night drink ….. nothing to do with Connie's demise. You'll come, won't you, Ruth?"

"I think I might have to," Ruth replied.

So, at 6.30, Adam, Jo, Malcolm, Ruth and the two junior analysts, Megan and Anjali, headed through the pods, on their way to the George. As they passed Harry's office, Ruth held up her hand to Adam.

"You all go on," she said, "I'll check to see if Harry wants to join us."

"He won't. He and Connie were mates."

"Not exactly mates," Malcolm commented, almost to himself. "They were never actually friends. I think it's safe to say that they shared a respectful tolerance of one another."

Harry had been back in his office since 5 o'clock, and he'd closed the blinds, and had not been seen since. Ruth very carefully slid open his office door, noticing that once she was inside, the only illumination came from the screensaver on his monitor, and a desk lamp which had been turned to face the wall, casting soft shadows over the whole office. Ruth closed the door behind her, and stepped into Harry's inner sanctum. Harry was stretched out on the sofa, his coat acting as a blanket, his jacket scrunched under his head as a makeshift pillow. He was fast asleep, a soft snore occasionally escaping from deep in his throat.

Ruth carefully moved closer to him, not sure how she'd explain her presence were he to wake and see her staring at him. Seeing him so exhausted and vulnerable, she silently chastised herself for her many months of angry thoughts towards him. Sometimes his job involved impossible balancing acts, the likes of which would daunt the bravest of people.

She'd leave him to his rest, and perhaps check on him after she'd been to the George with the others. Just in case he woke in the next hour or so, Ruth wrote a quick note, and slipped it on his mouse pad, underneath his mobile phone. _Gone to The George_, she wrote, _Would love it if you joined us. R_

* * *

"If it wasn't a Makarov silent pistol, then whoever took her out deserves to be caught."

"Adam, I'm sure that a silencer was used," Malcolm says quietly and firmly, "and that the weapon was most likely a Gyurza."

"Too heavy, and too easily traced. The FSB use them. It's like leaving a calling card."

"Don't you think," interrupted Anjali, the more outspoken of the two junior analysts, her deep brown eyes blazing, "that this conversation is a trifle …... macabre? A woman died, and you're arguing about what kind of weapon was used. I came here to chill, and this conversation isn't especially chilled."

Ruth had only just sat down when Adam had become animated about the probable weapon used on Connie James. She listened with only half an ear, watching the responses of the others around the table. Eventually, it was Jo's comment which stopped the conversation in its tracks.

"You know …... I didn't like Connie at all. I've made no secret of that, but I draw the line at discussing the weapon which may or may not have killed her. It chills me to think that were I shot, only hours later you'd all be in here, arguing about the gun that had been used to kill me. Connie's dead. Show some respect."

Malcolm reddened and dipped his head, while Adam breathed out heavily, and sat back in his chair, folding his arms. Ruth smiled slightly, seeing shades of Wes in Adam's actions.

The conversation soon recovered, but Ruth only joined in on a part time basis. She spent most of the time thinking about Connie, mulling over her last conversation with the older analyst.

"I may be chaotic, Ruth, but I've not been responsible for my boss almost having to go to gaol."

"That's low, Connie."

"Oh, I have more. I am, after all, an _analyst_, and I have _analysed_ this situation, and what I see is a middle aged man going all doe-eyed over a woman who treats him like he owes her."

"That is -"

"And I can tell you right now that Harry will not put up with that forever. He has had women who would make you look -"

And that had been when Ruth had stormed out of the technology suite, unaware that Malcolm had overheard the whole conversation. Ruth's real issue with Connie wasn't that she was unpleasant or abrasive, or even a sloppy analyst ….. all of which were true in Ruth's estimation. Connie's most confronting and frightening skill (because it _was_ a skill) was her ability to scratch away at Ruth's veneer of polite Englishness, in order to expose and name the fears and anxieties which bubbled away beneath the surface. Nobody wants to be that vulnerable – certainly not Ruth – and she'd resented, and sometimes even hated Connie for her ability to so easily put her finger firmly on her weaknesses. Under different circumstances, and given more time, Ruth may even have grown to like and respect Connie.

Ruth must have checked her phone at least once every ten minutes, until Malcolm had leaned towards her and whispered, "You should go, Ruth. None of us will mind. It's not as though you had much of a history with Connie, anyway."

"Thank you, Malcolm. I think I will go."

"Harry's probably still working, and he's lost track of the time."

Ruth looked up to see the glint in Malcolm's eyes – part mischief-maker, and part conspirator.

"He …... he was asleep in his office. He's probably still there."

"Then go. We'll all soon be leaving, and Ruth …... I'm so glad for the help you gave …... about the accusations Connie made. My theory …... for what it's worth ….. is that she threw it together in a hurry when she realised you were on to her. Nothing got past her, you know. She was so much sharper than any of us realised."

"I know."

"Go. I think he might need you."

Ruth looked down, aware she was probably blushing, while she gathered her things together.

"I'm off," she said, standing. "I'm moving house tomorrow."

"Do you need Wes and me to help?" Adam asked.

"No. It's alright. I …... Malcolm offered …. to help, and …... I really haven't that much stuff. I'll see you all on Monday."

And she left, and the space she left behind was soon filled by another conversation, more observations, further laughter. What Malcolm had not yet told her was that he'd asked Harry to help him move Ruth's few possessions into her new home, and he'd said he'd be happy to help.

* * *

The Grid appeared exactly as it had been when she left it. Ruth gently knocked on Harry's office door, and then she slid it open. He was still sleeping, but he'd rolled on to his side, with one arm hanging out from under his coat. One more roll, and he'd end up on the floor. Ruth had a plan, but first she needed Harry to be awake. She approached him slowly and quietly, and then bent down, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was warm, and he felt very solid …... solid and dependable. She resisted a powerful urge to run her fingers across the skin of his cheek.

"Harry," she said, in her quietest and calmest voice. "It's time for you to wake up."

When he didn't budge, she shook his shoulder, but only slightly. The movement was enough to bring him awake. His eyes flew open, and he looked right at Ruth, and she quickly removed her hand from his shoulder.

"What time is it?"

His voice was husky from sleep. He rolled onto his back, and stretched under the coat which still blanketed him from shoulders to knees.

"It's a little after eight, Harry."

"In the morning?"

"No. It's still Friday. Everyone's at the George. I'm the only one here."

Ruth stepped back a little, as Harry sat up, and then turned so that his feet reached the floor. She noticed his hair sticking up at the back, and the creases in his skin, where his cheek had rested on his jacket. She slowly stepped away, suddenly feeling like a trespasser in Harry's private domain, as he looked around him, and yawned, quickly covering his mouth with his hand.

"I'll wait for you …... out there," she said, pointing through the window, and edging towards the door."

"Please stay with me," Harry whispered.

"I am staying, Harry. I'll be outside …... while you tidy up."

With the words, `tidy up', Harry looked down at himself, and saw a bedraggled man, with no tie, a scrunched up jacket, a couple of buttons open on his shirt, and he wondered whether Ruth would even want to stay. He thought he looked a mess, and no woman wants that. He covered his face with his hands, and rubbed his skin, trying to force himself fully awake.

* * *

Ruth sat at her own desk, fiddling with anything on her desk which took her eye – pens, an eraser (which she'd never used), a couple of spare USB drives, her pen holder – until Harry appeared on the Grid floor. This time, she saw the Harry she was used to …... smartly dressed, his hair brushed, his coat folded over his arm. When he saw her, he smiled, and walked over to her, standing beside her desk.

"You stayed," he said.

"I said I would."

He nodded, and then looked down at his tie, which was not tied quite right. He lay his coat on the end of the desk, and tried to straighten his tie with his fingers, but his efforts were for nought.

"Here, I'll fix that," Ruth said, standing, and stepping close to him.

She grasped the knot of the tie between her fingers, and tried to pull it into some kind of order. In the end, she suspected she'd made everything worse. She pursed her lips, and then, with her palms against the lapels of Harry's jacket, she looked up into his eyes. His mouth was twisted in a half smile, and his eyes sparkled with fun, something Ruth rarely associated with Harry.

"I know you fantasise about strangling me, Ruth, but couldn't you at least wait until I'm asleep?"

"I guess I missed my opportunity when I woke you."

Harry nodded and smiled, and then gently put his hands on her waist, to ensure she'd not be able to escape. "I'm helping with your move tomorrow. Did you know that?"

Ruth looked up at him, surprised. "I didn't know that. I haven't many possessions, Harry. I'm not sure I'll require both of you."

Harry dropped his hands to his sides, but stayed standing close to her. "Malcolm will do all the work. I'm only coming along to supervise."

"I'm glad. I'm sure Malcolm will require supervising."

They stood close together, each watching the other for a few more moments, until Ruth again spoke.

"I thought we might have dinner together at my flat tonight, only this time I'll buy."

Harry nodded.

"How does Indian takeaway sound to you?" she said.

"Lovely. I'll buy the wine. Perhaps we should go now. It's ….."

"... getting late …... yes, I know."

Harry grabbed his coat from the end of Ruth's desk, and with one hand resting lightly against her back, he led her from the Grid. It was when they reached the underground car park that he removed his hand from her back and took her hand in his.

"Harry …... the cameras," she protested, feeling safer as his warm fingers wound around her own.

"Bugger the cameras. I want to hold your hand."

"So now you're quoting Lennon and McCartney …... a rare man of culture."

"I do my best, Ruth."

"I know you do."

As he opened the passenger side door of his car, and held it open for Ruth to step inside, their eyes met, and they each smiled. They both knew that he was opening the door to more than a car ride to Ruth's flat. They were each gazing into the possibility of a future.


End file.
